


Moonlight Soliloquy

by PurplePatchwork



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Angst, Blood and Injury, Graphic Description, Historical, M/M, Romantic Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 09:27:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13143789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurplePatchwork/pseuds/PurplePatchwork
Summary: Their town has been plagued by werewolf attacks. Ivan is given one chance to catch the beast and prove his own innocence, aided by Alfred, the young blacksmith's apprentice. However, complications soon arise as the true identity of the werewolf is discovered.





	Moonlight Soliloquy

Ivan’s glare was cool and calculated, directed at nothing in particular. He was waiting for the sheriff to calm down the gathered crowds, all of them booing and jeering and trying to get a glimpse at the outsider in their midst. Ivan ignored the name-calling and attempts at getting a rise out of him, waited until the proper trial could begin. He had patience to spare, even if these people didn’t deserve it.

Ivan cast his eyes upon the sheriff when he took the stand, a small wooden platform to elevate the man above the rest of the townsfolk. “Ivan Braginsky,” he spoke, and Ivan noted with almost grim satisfaction that his name was mispronounced. “I am sure you know why we have called you here today.” Despite his calm speech, soft murmurs constantly disturbed the illusion of this being a fair trial.

Ivan crossed his arms, refusing to play along. “I haven’t the slightest idea.” He had long since mastered the English language, despite his Russian heritage. In fact, he was the only Russian living in this very town, the only one to have strayed from their settlement in search of new places to discover and, eventually, live in. Had he known back then the kind of people he would encounter on his journeys, he would have stayed in Russian America.

The sheriff bristled, face reddening as he hurried to accuse Ivan. “Two more victims of murder have been found by the night watch early this morning! The werewolf has been on the loose again!” The villagers immediately erupted into vigorous ferment.

Ivan’s eyes darkened. He knew perfectly well why they had called him here. The werewolf had been terrorising their village for about three months now. Every full moon it had claimed casualties, leaving behind a bloody mark as a horrid reminder of its next visit. At first, the speculation had been that the beast had come from outside. After all, if any man living in the village happened to be a werewolf, surely he would turn himself in immediately, seeing as only good and faithful people resided here. Ah, but there was the catch. Ivan didn’t live _inside_ the village, per se.

“Ivan Braginsky, it can only be you!” The rumour started up again in full force, but the sheriff continued spitting accusations. “Everyone has been locking up at night, and no one has been reported leaving the house after curfew. You are the only one who could have snuck in to perform these foul murders!”

It was a ridiculous accusation, and anyone with a set of brains should be able to tell. Only, since Ivan had been cast in the role of outsider ever since his arrival, scapegoating him was all the more easy. Oh, Ivan understood this notion perfectly well. What he didn’t understand, was where the real beast was hiding.

“Do you have any proof?” Ivan grunted, realising that his intimidating stance wasn’t helping his case, consequently realising that changing his demeanour wouldn’t help him either, deciding in the end, not to change a single thing.

“The facts speak for themselves!” the sheriff countered. “You live at the edge of town, meaning you are harder to keep track of, you have the strength needed to break down doors, and you lack any solid social connections to the good folk of this town!”

Ivan felt a painful jab in his stomach, but didn’t move a muscle. They could all go to hell for all he cared. _Good folk? Don’t make me laugh._

Then, something curious happened. Among the hollering crowds out for Ivan’s blood, he happened to let his gaze fall upon a single defiant glare. Dirty blond hair, electric blue eyes, lips tightly pursed, figure trembling. Alfred, Ivan realised. The apprentice of Harper Johnson, the local blacksmith. At least somebody felt scorn for the unfairness of Ivan's situation.

He didn’t know why, but something in those furious blues struck a chord inside him, made him open his mouth, voice rising above the roaring throng. “I will hunt down this werewolf myself.”

Albeit the shouting came to a halt, suspicious muttering told Ivan that he was still distrusted.

The sheriff was panting a little, having over-exerted himself in his enthusiasm. “No need!” he yapped, excited like a small dog. “We already know who the werewolf is: you!”

Ivan ignored him. “The werewolf has been coming out for about three nights a month, one before and one after the full moon, yes?” The sheriff seemed about to protest, but Ivan quickly finished his appeal. “This means I still have two more nights to find out wherever the beast is hiding! If I do not succeed, do as you please. But at least give me the chance to prove my virtue.”

It was ludicrous that _he_ should be the one proving his innocence to _them_ , while they had been the ones to accuse him without even a single piece of evidence. However, Ivan understood that right now there were only three options: death, banishment, or put in an effort to be accepted (or at least tolerated) in the community. He noted this with bitterness, but it was fact nonetheless.

“And how do we know you won’t just run off? How can we be sure this isn’t just some scheme to give you another two nights to slaughter our entire village?”

Ivan breathed in deeply, eyes trailing back to the blond appearance among the crowds. “Simple. Have someone join me in the hunt.”

Only now did a hush fall over those gathered, breathless anticipation mixing with anxiety. Despite Ivan’s confident speech, he felt his own heartrate rising. “Have someone accompany me, and they can vouch for my actions during the following two days. And if they end up dead…” He shrugged. “You can safely assume that you were right all along.”

At this, the sheriff stirred. “Out of the question!”

Ivan’s lips curled up as he directed a knowing mien at the law enforcer. “You said it yourself. I am one of the burliest men of this town. If you want your werewolf captured, you _need_ me. Suppose you are wrong. Suppose I am not who or what you think I am. More killings will come, and keep coming, until there are none of you left.” He paused, looking at each individual face, watching them all hurriedly looking away or casting down their eyes (all except one, who seemed to be hanging on Ivan’s lips, enchanted by his rhetoric). Ivan looked back up, innocently batting his eyes. “The choice is yours.”

The sheriff moved his lips soundlessly, both terrified by the possible future Ivan had sketched, and terrified by Ivan himself. “S-still! No one would be foolish enough to accompany you on this preposterous quest!”

“You mean this is a village full of cowards?”

This certainly didn’t earn him any points, but Ivan was tired of the whole ordeal. Without waiting any longer, he directed his gaze at Alfred, let it trail up and down for a brief moment, as if inspecting his build (strong and healthy). “He will do.”

The crowd once more flared, outcries of dismay overpowering Alfred’s own gasp of surprise. “Monster!” “He just wants to eat him!” “Have him take someone else!”

But Ivan couldn’t be persuaded. Something about Alfred had caught his interest, whether it be his refusal to join the hive mind or the boldness of his gawking. (Something about Alfred always seemed to catch his interest.)

The sheriff wanted to protest again, but Alfred stepped forward. “I’ll do it!”

“No!” “What is he thinking?!” “You’re going to get yourself killed, boy!”

Alfred shook his head. “If that’s what he wants, then I’ll gladly join! I want to get rid of the werewolf just as much as anyone else!” He glared at the two standing beside him, as if challenging them to object. When nothing more came, he fixated on Ivan. “I can get us the weapons by tonight.”

He was standing with his feet apart and planted firmly to the ground, hands balled to fists, chest puffed out. Both an act and a promise; he wasn’t going to run away from this.

Ivan nodded, smiled a wicked thing that could chase away the crows from the field. “Then, let us waste not a second more.”

* * *

Despite Alfred’s eagerness to join the hunt, when he arrived at Ivan’s humble abode that evening, he seemed to be extremely tense, constantly glancing around, jumping when Ivan opened the door after peering through a crack in the wood to ogle his young guest.

“You carried these guns all the way here by yourself?” Ivan asked in a humorous tone, inspecting a heavy blunderbuss from all sides.

“Of course I did!” Alfred huffed. “Wouldn’t be much of a blacksmith if I couldn’t carry a fire weapon or two. Or, well, apprentice-blacksmith, to be exact.”

Ivan whistled when noticing the silver bullets. “Where did you get these?”

“Donation from the priest. He had some stored away from one of his ancestors from across the ocean. There’s only three though,” Alfred warned, briefly catching Ivan’s eye before refocusing on the gun, “so be careful when you shoot.”

Ivan took aim, felt the weight in his hands. “Have you ever shot one of these before?”

Alfred hesitated. “Only the lighter ones, you know, for hunting less dangerous animals.” Nerves coloured his attempt at a joke.

Ivan raised an eyebrow. “You do not seem that eager now.”

Alfred’s cheeks darkened in guilt. “Oh…you noticed.”

Ivan leant in slowly, fascinated by the alarmed breath-intake this caused. “If you want out, there is still time.” His breath ghosted Alfred’s ear. “I do not want to cause you any trouble.” The tone he used was both condescending and self-pitying, a mockery on any show of cowardice, whether they be Alfred’s, the villagers’, or his own.

Alfred took a step back, slapped a hand over his ear, eyes wide yet frown stubborn. “I’m not backing out. Sure, going after werewolves is scary. But you can count on me!” He was putting on a front, and they both knew it. Still, his words were rooted in the truth.

Ivan simpered. “Good. Only the foolish feel no fear when facing death.” He slung a weapon over his shoulder, taking note of the position of the sun in the vast skies above. “Well then, we better hurry.”

Ivan began walking ahead, past the star-struck boy, listening closely until he heard the scramble of feet before Alfred caught up to him, secretly causing him to smile.

Ivan cast a side-eyed glance at the town’s favourite golden boy. They hadn’t really had the chance to properly converse before today, their chance meetings reduced to a curious glimpses from the workshop of the blacksmith on Alfred’s part, Ivan spotting Alfred prowling the edge of the forest with bow and arrow on a different occasion, a quick “Hello” or wave of the hand in passing. Alfred had never shown a sign of the distrust that coloured the others’ glares, only a youthful inquisitiveness towards this newcomer. Secretive glances, wanting to know more about one another.

They began patrolling the town, Alfred easily falling into Ivan’s step despite the other’s longer legs. Their loping strides slowed considerably when passing by a particular house, the door torn from its hinges. Alfred swallowed.

“Did you…get a look at the bodies?” He didn’t look at Ivan when asking the question, eyes clinging to the crime scene, as if the beast they were hunting would suddenly leap out from under the dust and rubble. There were animal tracks leading from the house, which they began following at once.

“Only briefly,” Ivan replied, allowing Alfred this moment of distraction. “The father was against it, but the doctor had no qualms, after I told him that I had to know what to prepare for.” Flashes of broken bones, half-eaten intestines, disfigured faces. Gruesomely fascinating, or fascinatingly gruesome?

Alfred flinched briefly, hesitantly glancing over at his companion. “So…it’s true then. It was Marie and her son that got killed.” A pink tongue darted out to swipe along his lips, after which he began worrying them with teeth that were an almost unfair white. “I had heard there were two victims, but no one wanted to tell me who…”

Ivan nodded gravely, carefully taking in the reactions of the younger hunter. “The father was at his sister’s house until late this night, you know, the widow.”

“They have _names_ ,” Alfred pointed out, at which Ivan cast his eyes to the heavens and rolled a broad shoulder in an uncaring shrug.

“I will learn their names the moment they start treating me like a normal human being.”

They had reached the outskirts of town, where the animal prints morphed into those of a human, only further confirming that they were dealing with a shapeshifting monster. The prints disappeared at one of the abandoned buildings; the previous church, not yet having been rebuilt after a devastating fire.

Alfred was eyeing Ivan with great intrigue, as if looking at him for the first time. “Is that why you’re so grumpy? Because people haven’t been treating you fair?”

Ivan sent him a sour look that made Alfred’s mouth snap shut, though it didn’t erase the grin tugging at his lips. Ivan nodded at the floor. “No more prints. Which either means that the perpetrator has wiped them out, or he simply began treading more carefully, which will make our task a lot more difficult.” He sighed, noting that the sun had begun to set. Almost time.

Alfred patted the heavy gun still hanging from his shoulders. “No problem! I’m sure that together, we can take him on—or it.” They stationed themselves outside the building, turning towards the village. The night watch should have taken their positions as well, only, they were facing outward, protecting the village only from possible intruders. If the werewolf was truly among them, this strategy wouldn’t help their cause.

Alfred haphazardly kept looking back at the sun, starting to squirm as it sunk lower and lower. “I really do hope we catch it tonight. Wouldn’t want an innocent guy to get sent to the gallows.”

“You believe in my innocence?” Ivan asked, smile audible in his amused tone.

Alfred nodded slowly, catching Ivan’s gaze before quickly looking away. “I mean, it’s not because you’re an outsider that you’re evil because of it. I don’t have a reason to think you’re bad, and so far you haven’t given me one either.” He cocked his head to the side, sending Ivan a lopsided grin. “I actually think you’re pretty interesting!”

Ivan’s eyebrows shot up when this confession caused Alfred’s cheeks to burn a bright red, the boy quickly spinning around, back turned to Ivan. Ivan thought he could hear the other curse his very existence, saying something along the lines of “Me and my stupidly loud mouth…”

“You mean that?” Ivan asked, not a hint of mockery present.

Alfred didn’t look back, but Ivan saw the distinct nod. His expression turned pensive as he continued to study the other, nervous trembling of his hands, how he kept shifting weight from one foot to the other, until finally he spun around, glare defiant. “It’s just that, you rarely talk to anyone, so I thought you were an interesting guy! Nothing more, nothing less!”

Ivan laughed, a deep baritone rumble, putting up his hands. “I did not accuse you of anything else! I was just thinking…”

“Thinking what?” Alfred asked sceptically.

“A couple of weeks back, when you kept coming near my house every evening to start hunting. Were you trying to catch a glimpse of my presence?”

Alfred flushed again, mouth opening and closing furiously, angry at the both of them for being caught. However, after a couple of moments of adorable blustering, he grew silent. “You just made me remember something…”

He slumped down on a rock, hands folded in contemplation. Behind him, the sun was casting its last rays over the peaceful town, in which all inhabitants were closing up for the night.

Ivan nodded, encouraging his companion to finish his thoughts.

Alfred looked up again, his eyes shining bluer without the sun to temper their hues. “You know, the strangest thing happened around that time. One of the nights I went hunting, I went out a little too late because I…okay—because I’d lingered around your house, I admit it. But anyway, after I finally caught something, I realised it was already really late, and then I began hurrying home as fast as I could.”

While he was speaking, Ivan had a perfect view on the moon ascending into the sky right behind the frame of his face, bathing it in luminescent lighting. For a moment, the youngster looked absolutely beautiful.

“I woke up in some bushes near your house that next morning. I guess I must’ve passed out without noticing, or maybe I was attacked, but for whatever reason, the wolf didn’t want to eat me.”

Barely had the last words left his mouth or he suddenly convulsed, a hint of panic in his eyes before all Ivan could see were messy sweat-soaked locks, upper body bending over while his arms were wound tightly around his torso.

“Alfred?!” Ivan asked, suddenly in the highest state of alarm. Nothing in the boy had anticipated such a strong reaction, and he found himself kneeling down beside him in an instant. “What is it? Where does it hurt?”

Alfred was groaning and moaning and panting, as if he were a woman going into labour (Ivan had been present on one such occasion). Behind Alfred, the moon was rising still, climbing higher and higher to take her proper place among the stars. It seemed as though, the higher the moon went, the more Alfred’s body began twitching and trembling, the horrid spasming sending him tumbling to the ground.

“Alfred!” Ivan had never felt helpless before in his life. He wasn’t a doctor, but he usually knew what to do when someone fell ill or obtained an injury. This, however, he did not know how to deal with. For he had absolutely no idea what had come over his companion.

No idea? Well…

There was an inkling of an idea forming when Alfred finally let out an animalistic howl, a sound that tore through the early night sky, though constrained enough so as not to be heard by anyone inside the village. He had a suspicion when Alfred fell onto all fours, back curling as he clawed at the earth beneath him. “Alfred…?” He knew when Alfred looked back at him, bared teeth growing sharper before Ivan’s very eyes, hair sprouting from every patch of naked skin, and those beautifully blue eyes now turning yellow, the pupils widening to better accommodate against the waning light.

Ivan slowly began backing away when Alfred—or the thing once known as Alfred—let out another growl, back bulging with a sickening ripple, legs snapping into unhuman angles, nails digging deeper and more efficiently.

Alfred was the werewolf. And from what Ivan could gather, Alfred himself didn’t even have a clue.

Alfred’s body tore through his clothes, now too big to be held back. Ivan knew he should be taking action. This was the very reason he had come out here, to hunt the werewolf. Not that much hunting needed to be done, seeing as the creature had presented itself to him on a silver platter.

Still. There was something holding him back. Some form of disbelief, perhaps. Anger, even. That of all people, it had to be Alfred. How _could_ it be Alfred?

Ivan wasn’t allowed much time to gather his thoughts, however. The transformation was complete. The werewolf— _Alfred_ —now rose on its (his!) hind legs, looking down his long snout, hot breath coming in bursts from between long teeth. With the full moon behind him, the creature let out a low howl, a lonesome sound, the force of it enough to pull Ivan from his stupor. And right in time too, for the moment Alfred finished, the look he sent Ivan made clear that the hunt had officially begun. And Ivan was tonight’s prey.

Ivan’s eyes shot to his gun, then back at Alfred. Even though the being in front of him was entirely beastly, he could still see a glint of understanding in those blazing eyes. He only had a split-second to decide on his next move.

Ivan leapt into a roll, dodging a blow as he quickly seized his gun. The adrenaline was pumping through his veins, making him hyper-aware of every movement of his enemy.

Alfred was his enemy.

Alfred, the blue-eyed blond, the enthusiastic blacksmith’s apprentice, the town’s very own golden boy. Always reliable, always optimistic, always a delight. Alfred, who was now crouching down on all fours, snarling and drooling, not showing a hint of recognition. Alfred, who had been the only one not to immediately condemn him.

He couldn’t do this.

He had to _run_.

Ivan leapt to the side, the wind rushing past telling him that Alfred had been this close to hitting him. The werewolf crashed to the ground on the exact spot where Ivan had been standing mere moments ago, all animalistic growls and tousled fur. Ivan felt his heart pounding against his ribs, both awed and anxious of the majestic beast standing before him. Alfred was a monster. But somehow, Ivan couldn’t help but see those amazing blue eyes when beholding the foul creature.

“Over there! I heard it!”

The grip on his gun tightened. The night watch had been alarmed and were heading this way. He could either wait for them to arrive, have them help him take down the creature that had been defiling the town for three months now. Because Alfred was the werewolf, so Alfred had been the cause of murder, and thus he must be punished. Alfred. The beast. The form of which apparently, he hadn’t even been aware.

He could also lead Alfred away.

Ivan straightened up, pointed the gun. Alfred had his back curled, frontal paws scraping the earth, ready to pounce. Ivan fired one of the regular bullets, heard it whizzing past the thick coat of fur. Alfred growled furiously, leaping straight at him. Ivan rolled to the side, using the momentum to propel him into the forest, after which he began running as if his life depended on it, which it did, it really did.

Ivan heard the heavy thud of paws chasing after him. He shouldn’t be doing this. He was only making things harder on himself. Instead of trying to outrun the beast, leading it away from the town, he should simply turn around and use the silver bullets he had been given for exactly this purpose. It was the simplest solution.

Yet somehow the mere thought of killing made his mouth taste sour, stomach turning at the mere suggestion. Ivan was a hunter. But he wasn’t a murderer. And now that he knew the identity of that which he was hunting, he knew he couldn’t fulfil his purpose.

Ivan yelled over his shoulder. “Over here! Follow me!” Not that it was really necessary; the wolf had caught his scent, and seemed to be dead-set on making Ivan tonight’s kill. Ivan had a plan though. Earlier that day, he had set up a trap near his house, on the outskirts of town. All he needed to do now was lead Alfred there, and capture him. All he needed to do was outrun the devil on his heels. Which proved to be a lot harder than one would think.

Multiple times, Ivan found himself just barely managing to stay out of the creature’s grasp, dodging left and right, zigzagging between the trees, but always feeling like every wrong step could lead to his early demise. Ivan was a strong man, but this pursuit had the breath whistling in and out his throat, coming at rapid intervals to keep up with his swift movements. He was still carrying the large gun, Alfred’s having been left behind at the abandoned ruin. Ivan could feel the silver bullets sitting in his pocket, thudding against his thigh with very step. He was still struggling with the concept of Alfred being a monster, but he knew he couldn’t use them. No matter how many times he had hunted in his life, however many times he had looked his prey dead in the eye before ending its life, he knew he couldn’t do the same to Alfred.

Ivan’s breath caught when he finally managed to spot his house. Almost there. He just needed to dodge a little longer—

All the breath was knocked out of him when Alfred lashed out again, this time slamming his sturdy arm into Ivan’s side, throwing him off-balance. Ivan could feel his body flying a little ways through the air before landing at the foot of a tree, insides churning. He only took a fraction of a second to check for any broken bones, noting the possibility of a fractured rib, before once again rolling out of the way, having Alfred slam down his frontal paws right next to him. Alfred was not be to deterred. If he had ever been this ferocious in his regular hunts, he wouldn’t have been a blacksmith now, rather he’d probably make for an excellent sheriff (although anyone would make for a good replacement of their current one).

Ivan could feel the sweat dripping down his neck as he pushed himself up, ignoring the pangs of pain in his side. He was about to start running again, but then noticed he had dropped his gun. Reaching out to grab it proved to be a mistake; once more Alfred lashed out at him, almost tearing off his arm with those strong claws. Ivan let out a mangled cry, vision going hazy for just a short moment, before he forced himself to refocus on the beast standing right before him.

 _Just a little bit longer_. He had to make it. He had to capture him.

Ivan grabbed the gun with his unblemished arm, pointed it. He could feel the blood pound inside his skull, could almost smell the warm drops falling from the wound in his useless left arm. It was hard aiming with just one hand, but he managed to point the blunderbuss straight at the nightmarish demon. Alfred didn’t move out of the way, didn’t show a sign of fear. He simply stared straight back, those yellow eyes big and tainted by reddish veins. He didn’t fear death. He didn’t fear anything.

And _still_ , Ivan couldn’t do it. Under different circumstances, he would have called himself a coward, weak in the face of danger. But how could he rob Alfred of his life? How could he destroy the only good thing in this town?

Ivan turned around and began his final sprint. He knew he was acting like an idiot. Alfred could hardly be called pure, seeing as he already had several kills under his name. Ivan knew there had to be something wrong with him for even thinking about protecting this unnatural apparition. Well, then so be it.

His arm dangling flaccidly by his side, Ivan made a B line for the hidden cage he knew was located right between those two trees straight ahead of him. He could hear Alfred catching up to him, could feel the exact moment in which the dash turned into a jump, the very earth trembling with the force of his plunge. At the very last moment, Ivan threw himself to the side, Alfred vaulting past him, and straight into the cage. The mechanism set into motion the very moment Alfred hit the bottom of the cage, trapping him in. The beast was caught.

Ivan lay panting on the ground, eyes closed to fend off the upcoming nausea. His arm was still bleeding, his chest aching with every large breath intake. Even though Ivan had tried for a pacifist approach, he had been wounded nonetheless, badly. He could hear Alfred raging on in the cage next to him, slamming his heavy body into the iron bars, howling and barking and spitting out what could pass as nonverbal cursing. He could almost hear Alfred’s sailor mouth through it all, making him chuckle, before that made him cough up blood.

After catching his breath, Ivan slowly pushed himself up until he was leaning against a rock, hooded eyes peering over at his capture, obviously displeased at being captured. First things first; he needed to bind his wounds, lest he bleed out. Whatever his next move may be, his own health was a priority right now.

Ivan didn’t feel ready for walking, so he slowly crawled over to the entrance of his small house, using rags to bind his arm, alcohol to numb himself against the pain (although he put the bottle to his lips instead of the wound itself). Alfred continued throwing a tantrum outside, but Ivan ignored him for the time being, trusting the sturdiness of the cage, though praying the night watch steered clear of these parts. Although it probably wouldn’t take long for them to come this way, seeing as a gun had been dropped in the struggle to get here. In fact, he should probably make plans for his next move.

His next move…

Ivan headed back outside, taking slow and deliberate steps with a straightened spine. He cast the werewolf a pensive mien, hiding the storm roaring inside. He had done as he had set out to do; he had captured the werewolf, the thing that had been tormenting the villagers for three months now. He really ought to just get it over with, retrieve the gun from where he’d fallen, put a bullet through the beast’s skull.

Alfred was standing at the entrance of the cage, fully aware of the other’s presence. One could interpret his intense stare as a promise of death, a want to kill. But when Ivan looked at him, he could only see Alfred, pleading for his life. He could only confirm his own unwillingness to kill a fellow human being.

Ivan sighed, wincing. There had to be something wrong with him.

* * *

Dawn was finally setting in. Ivan had managed to divert attention from the night guard by leading them to the other edge of town, using a deer carcass as decoy, simultaneously retrieving both guns. The remainder of the night he had spent by Alfred’s side, watching the wolf occasionally try for a new way of escaping, never managing to find one that worked. Ivan had loaded the gun with silver bullets, but wasn’t planning on using them.

Ivan was exhausted. He hadn’t slept at all tonight, he was injured, and there was still an even more difficult task awaiting him. He folded his hands in his lap when the descending moon caused exactly what he had expected to happen; Alfred began changing back. Ivan still found it disturbing to watch those crackling bones, listen to the pained howls escaping from the being’s lips. The thick fur quickly retreated back into his skin, legs popping back into place, nails and teeth slinking to human proportions.

Alfred passed out the moment the transformation ended. Ivan breathed in deeply, remaining calm. This must be the exact moment in which he lost his memory of past nights. _The strangest thing happened that time_. Alfred had no idea what he’d done, what he’d almost done again this night. Ivan couldn’t decide whether his amnesia was a blessing or a curse, whether the boy should count himself lucky, or whether he truly was to be pitied.

Ivan slowly stood, grabbing the bucket of water he’d set down to help him endure the night. He walked over to Alfred’s unconscious form, staring down for just a moment, before dumping the contents of the bucket over Alfred’s head, without bothering to open the cage.

Alfred awoke with a shriek like a banshee’s, body propelled up in his haste to escape the icy water. “I’m up I’m up I’m up!” Upon noticing Ivan, he scowled at him. “What on earth was that for?!” Upon seeing his bare form, he self-consciously pulled up his knees. “And what on earth am I naked for?!”

Alfred continued sputtering in confusion for a small while, Ivan staring down at him. He really had no other way to tell him than to do so directly. He decided that Alfred was definitely more pitiable than lucky.

“Alfred,” Ivan said softly, cutting off the other’s stream of protests and accusations. “Do you have any memory of last night?”

Contrary to Ivan’s expectations, instead of becoming distressed, Alfred began blushing. “W-what do you mean?” the boy asked, naked body shuddering as the cold settled into his bones. “What did we—what did _you_ , I mean…”

Ivan was both amused and surprised. Had Alfred really thought…?

“I had no idea you were struggling with such fantasies,” he laughed, but even as Alfred began spluttering in the most adorable of ways, he quickly felt the glee evaporate. He was in too much pain to make a lot of jokes. “But no. Nothing happened. At least, not in that sense.”

“Oh…then what—“

“Alfred.” Ivan swallowed harshly, those blue eyes trained on him and only him, youthful and questioning and so full of life. “Alfred, _you_ are the werewolf.”

He could feel his blood run cold as Alfred stared at him with growing confusion. He knew Alfred didn’t believe him, and why would he? Nobody, not even Alfred himself, could ever expect him to be the werewolf.

“That’s not true, right? You are joking.”

“Alfred, why do you think you are locked up in a cage?”

Seemingly for the first time that morning, Alfred became aware of his surroundings. With a start he began looking around him, no longer past the iron bars but directly at them, the greenery covering the top to hide the cage from curious onlookers, and most importantly, the locked door.

“Why _am_ I in a cage? Ivan, what happened here?”

Ivan could hear the rising alarm in his voice. He sighed, which only put more pressure on his broken rib. “Listen to me, and listen very carefully. What I am telling you is the truth.”

He spoke softly yet with determination, Alfred paying close attention to the movements of his lips, as if trying to store away this memory for later use.

“Last night, we went hunting for the werewolf together. You remember that, right?”

Alfred slowly nodded. “Yes, I do. I brought us guns with silver bullets, and I was going to help you catch the wolf.”

Ivan nodded encouragingly, gesturing for the other to continue, keeping his wounded arm as still as possible at his side. Alfred’s brow dipped into a solemn frown as he scourged his memory.

“We…we went to the church ruins. We were talking about something. I don’t really remember what about…” The frown deepened. “I remember suddenly feeling unwell. And after that, nothing.”

“Nothing?” Ivan parroted.

Alfred shook his head. “No. After that, I must have passed out, or—“ He came to a sudden stop, mouth still hanging open, eyes widening. Ivan’s heart dropped to the bottom of his stomach, watching those quivering lips, that flash of realisation.

“Ivan, am I really? Am I…the killer?”

Ivan wished he could tell him it wasn’t true, that there was nothing to worry about. He wished he could take back every word he’d uttered. But he didn’t. His head jerked up and down once, shortly, affirming Alfred’s anxiety. There was no avoiding the truth.

Alfred was rubbing his arms over his legs, now speeding up the movements. “Oh. Oh, oh, oh—I k-killed them. I’m the wolf, I’m the murderer…”

Ivan watched on, feeling utterly useless as the trembles wracked Alfred’s lithe body, the once so energetic boy now curling in on himself like an abandoned hatchling. Ivan had only once seen this amount of despair in a human being, but it simply felt wrong to connote the image to Alfred. He somehow felt like he should protect the boy from any further harm.

Ivan couldn’t comfort him, but he wasn’t going to sit by and do nothing. He made a decision that he knew would change the remainder of his life. His hands fumbled with the key to the cage, but he managed to unlock the door after a short moment.

The moment he stepped inside, Alfred scrambled back. “Get away from me!” he shouted. “I’m dangerous!”

“You are the least dangerous person I have ever met,” Ivan said firmly, fierce glare putting a stop to Alfred’s anguished words. Ivan stared down at him, observing the wet streaks on those rosy cheeks, red blotches in his neck, goose bumps covering his arms. He extended the hand of his good arm. “Come.”

“What are you planning to do?” Alfred asked weakly, still shaken by that moment of comprehension.

“I am taking you out of here.”

Understanding flashed in his eyes, but it wasn’t accompanied by relief. “Why?”

Ivan shook his head impatiently. “Does it matter? I want to help you.”

Alfred met Ivan’s glare with one of his own. For someone so rattled, he still managed to put quite the amount of ferocity into his expression. “You want to help a killer? You want to cover up my crimes?”

“I want to help _you_ , Alfred. Because God knows you did not murder those people willingly.”

Alfred cringed at Ivan’s words, but still seemed set on countering them. Ivan clacked his tongue. “We do not have time for this. You want to be out of town before they all start waking up, before you are found to be missing.”

“Oh, yes, because then everybody will think something happened to me because of you,” Alfred said sarcastically.

Ivan snapped. Disregarding Alfred’s unwillingness to go along with his plans, he reached out and pulled the other to his feet, albeit not without the necessary amount of struggle. However, he had momentarily forgotten about his injuries, and now found himself wincing as the effort shook his body. Alfred was by his side in a flash, worried hands padding his arm and chest.

“Are you okay?! What happened?”

Ivan protested, not wanting him to see, but Alfred didn’t listen, unwrapping the rags, gasping when witnessing what lay underneath.

“You’re hurt!” Ivan inwardly groaned when he immediately made the connection. “Wait, did I do this?” He looked Ivan in the eye, capturing his face between his hands. “Did I try to hurt you too? You have to be honest with me!”

Ivan didn’t say anything at first, which only confirmed Alfred’s suspicions. “You’re crazy!” he yelled, not once letting go of Ivan’s round cheeks. “You’re not only trying to help a murderer, but someone who tried to kill you as well! Don’t you have any sense of self-preservation? Do you _want_ to die?! If you help me escape now, they won’t just come after me, but after you as well! Besides–“

Ivan could only think of one thing that would shut him up. Without giving his actions a second thought, he leant in and pressed their lips together.

Alfred went perfectly still under him, the kiss achieving its goal. Finally, some peace and quiet. He didn’t know how long it lasted, and it really couldn’t have been more than a couple of seconds, but in that long moment, Ivan finally managed to clear out his mind.

After pulling away, he took a moment to look at Alfred’s face, his comically shocked expression, pink cheeks, slightly parted lips. Perfectly star-struck. Ivan reached out to drag a thumb over that plush lower lip.

“I am not sending an innocent person to the gallows,” he whispered.

Alfred nodded. “O-okay.” He scraped his throat, regained his composure. “Okay. But, before we go… Do you have some clothes for me?”

* * *

They only spared a few moments preparing for their escape, Ivan giving Alfred some clothes that didn’t fit but would do the job of covering him up, the both of them gathering food to take along on their trip. Alfred remained quiet during preparations, showing that he still wasn’t sure that this was the best course of events, but at least he wasn’t working against the plan of escape. Ignoring Ivan’s protests, Alfred grabbed a chain, “In case I become dangerous.” Ivan decided to take his gun with him to fend off wild animals or other possible dangers (Alfred not included). He loaded it with the silver bullets, and act out of spite against the townsfolk. He would waste their precious silverware on woodland critters.

“Let us go over it again,” Ivan said, speaking quietly and using deliberate words, as they left his house for the last time. “I will escort you out of town, and we will travel until we find a place far enough from civilisation for you to live safely.”

They made their way along the edge of trees, waiting until they were certain the coast was clear before heading deeper into the forest.

“We need to find a place where the beast can cause no harm.”

Alfred noticed that Ivan spoke of the wolf as if it and Alfred were two separate beings, unattached from each other’s faith. Even though Alfred would never meet his wolfish side, he wasn’t entirely sure it was that clear-cut. But seeing as Ivan had convinced himself that Alfred was the epitome of all good in this world, he knew better than to try and tell him otherwise.

He also didn’t ask Ivan what he was planning to do after they had found a place for Alfred to stay. Surely, Ivan couldn’t stay with him. Far too dangerous. Alfred was indeed no threat when in his human form, but if he couldn’t even remember the things he did as a wolf, he doubt he could learn to control his urges. The plan was crazy. Doomed to fail. (Ivan’s lips had been like frozen fire on his own.)

They made their way through the forest, traveling in silence, their surroundings abuzz. As if they were being watched from every angle, judged, feared.

The pair didn’t get too far before trouble arose. Someone had spotted them.

“There he is! He’s trying to escape!”

Ivan looked back in alarm, counting three men in their pursuit. He grabbed Alfred’s wrist and began running as fast as his legs could carry him.

“He’s taking Alfred!”

“I knew he was the werewolf, he’s kidnapping him as prey!”

Alfred stumbled, but Ivan continued pulling him along as they dashed through the forest, past greenery and over fallen tree trunks.

“Ivan!” Alfred called, but Ivan didn’t slow down at all. They had reached the edge of a small mountain range. If they could climb up here and disappear over the top, they would surely lose their pursuers.

“Ivan!” Alfred shouted again, voice barely reaching above the howling wind deafening Ivan to his environment. His ribs were pounding, and he was certain the wound on his arm had opened up again, but he had to save Alfred, had to prevent any harm being done to him.

Ivan hissed when Alfred yanked him back, again portraying much more strength than one would deem him capable of. “Ivan, please! They think you’re the werewolf—I don’t want you to sacrifice yourself for me!”

“And what do I care about them?!” Ivan retorted. “What have they ever done for me, that I should want their recognition?”

Alfred opened his mouth, closed it. He had no counterargument at the ready.

Ivan breathed in deeply, ignoring the dizzying pain in his chest. The fingers of his wounded arm were tingling. “Believe me, Alfred. Helping you is all I care about right now. There is nothing in that village that would make me doubt my choices.”

Alfred slowly nodded, didn’t speak, expression filled with concern. They could hear the others catching up to them.

“Come.”

“Wait, at least let me carry the gun.”

Ivan rolled his eyes, but handed off his load anyway. As soon as the exchange was made, he grabbed Alfred by the hand and once more pulled him along, beginning a climb someone in Ivan’s physical state really shouldn’t be making, but they had no choice.

“Beast!”

“Demon!”

“You aren’t getting away with this, Braginsky!”

Ivan knew Alfred kept looking back without checking. Alfred didn’t understand his unwillingness to clear his own name. It didn’t matter. Pretty soon, he wouldn’t need to understand, because then it would be just the two of them.

Ivan groaned as he heaved his body onto a loose rock, Alfred lightly jumping after him, apparently needing much less effort to undertake the same actions.

“You all right?”

“Yes, keep going!”

However, as Ivan took a moment longer to catch his breath, it was Alfred who pulled him up, slipping under a shoulder to support his weight. Ivan grunted, both in pain and gratitude. They didn’t have much longer to go. As soon as they were out of sight, they could rest. Not now, however, not now.

The others had caught up though. They were running out of time.

“There they are!”

“Alfred, what are you doing? Get away from that monster!”

“He’s not a monster!” Alfred growled, slithering from under Ivan’s arm to turn around, facing their pursuers. “And he’s not kidnapping me, we’re just leaving town together!”

Their shocked faces were almost comical. “You would _help_ the werewolf?”

“He’s not the werewolf!” Alfred yelled, adrenaline and indignation having his body trembling. Ivan was looking at him instead of the three villagers (he could barely remember their names, just more unimportant sheep wandering meekly into enemy territory).

“Alfred, leave them,” Ivan panted, but Alfred was beyond listening to him.

One of the villagers advanced, and Alfred suddenly seemed to remember that he was carrying a gun, pointing it straight at the man’s head. “Don’t take another step. I mean it.”

The man slowly raised his hands, falling back. “Alfred, it’s me, John! You helped me and my father to build our house!”

“Yeah, and look where it got me!” Alfred screamed, eyes glinting maniacally. “Just because I build houses, I’m a good guy, huh? While Ivan here never did anything wrong, and still you blame him for everything that ever happened to us!”

While John still had his hands raised, the one beside him (Simon?) seemed to have different plans. He had pulled out a knife while everyone’s attention was elsewhere, and now lunged forward, attempting to push past Alfred to go and fulfil his duty, slaughter the beast. Kill Ivan like one would a wild animal.

A gunshot seemed to silence the entire forest. Ivan blinked once, twice, ears ringing. His gaze fell upon the man lying at his feet, life draining from his features. Eyes fluttering up, they locked with Alfred’s violently trembling figure, the gun in his grasp, the tears gathering at the corners of his eyes, mouth forming a surprised little “oh”. It was obvious he hadn’t actually meant to shoot anyone, no less than Ivan had expected Alfred to be capable of shooting a human being. Yet the proof was there, in Simon’s lifeless body, the pool of red spreading beneath his fallen form.

John grabbed his other companion by the hand, Ivan noticing that he had wet himself. “W-we need to get out of here! We need to warn everyone!”

Warn…Ivan didn’t like the sound of that.

His gaze became blurry when he saw the two turn around into a sprint, anxious to get away from the crime scene as soon as possible. Alfred was still too shocked to move, but Ivan wasn’t. In fact, even though there was a numbness spreading through him, the next step he should take became perfectly clear, born from logic itself. There could be no one retreating back to the village, telling everyone what they’d witnessed. There could be no one knowing what Alfred was truly capable of, blemishing the image of his golden angel. They couldn’t know he was the wolf.

In one movement, Ivan pulled the gun from Alfred’s hands and, with almost easy precision, pointed, shot two times. He felt no excitement or disgust when seeing his victims hit the ground, only relief. Alfred was safe.

He turned around to look at the other. Alfred was staring at him, true horror written in his features. Ivan wanted to tell him that everything was all right now, that there was nothing left to fear. But upon opening his mouth, he knew something was wrong. His fears were confirmed when Alfred’s gaze shot down, falling on what had to be a red stain spreading on Ivan’s former white shirt.

Ivan only then remembered that he had placed the silver bullets in the gun. These bullets were not only much smoother than the average bullet, their shape helped them travel at greater speeds. It must have cleaved its way through Simon’s chest, before heading for what lay directly beyond. Ivan.

In the end, it hadn’t been the broken rib or damaged arm that killed him, nor the danger that inhabited Alfred. It had been his own inability to make decisions, his own refusal to kill the beast.

“Ivan!”

Alfred’s voice was distorted as Ivan fell down, the pain only a minor annoyance next to the spreading feeling of exhaustion. Alfred was kneeling beside him, sobbing now. Whether it be for his own lack of innocence or Ivan’s faith, Ivan wasn’t sure, but he felt sorry nonetheless.

“Shhhh. It’s okay. Angels shouldn’t cry.” He wanted to tell this to Alfred, wanted to comfort him, instruct him on what to do next. He wanted to apologise for not being a better guardian, for letting Alfred become a werewolf in the first place, even though that was beyond his control.

In the end, he didn’t get to say anything. Death waits for no one.

Alfred continued to kneel by his side, emotions a garbled mess. Nothing made sense anymore. Just yesterday, everything had been wonderful. He had been a young blacksmith’s apprentice, in the prime of his life, setting out to help clear a friend’s name. Nothing of that was true anymore today.

Alfred could hardly see through the tears, but he caught the glint of the barrel anyway. White noise droning in his ears, he reached out to pull it close, checked the ammunition. There were only regular bullets left. Three silver bullets, four victims. What had begun as a romantic escape had turned into a slaughter.

Still, Alfred knew what needed to be done, had no doubts left. He looked again at the now lifeless body before him. He stroked Ivan’s face, pressed a kiss to his lips. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, before reaching down, opening up the bloodied coat. He felt terrible about having to desecrate the other’s body, but there was no other choice. He didn’t have the strength left to go to one of the others, didn’t have to strength left to do anything but this one last thing.

Alfred placed his hand on top of the open wound. Breathed in deeply. Closed his eyes. Imagined seeing the bullet, located deep within.

The very next moment, he could feel himself being lifted up by the shoulders.

“We found him! Alfred’s still alive!”

No. Wait. What were they—

“Oh, thank God! He survived!”

Someone screamed.

“That bastard! He killed John, Simon—dear God, not, not—! My baby…”

Their words were a blur interrupting Alfred’s reverential solitude. What should have been a quiet last moment became a jumble of confusion. He couldn’t make sense of it all. What were they doing?

He could feel his body being dragged away. Wait. _Wait_. They weren’t…

“Burn that monster’s body! We don’t want to risk the chance of him returning!”

No. NO! They had the wrong guy!

Alfred began thrashing in his captor’s hold, using the last of his strength. “No, wait! Ivan isn’t the monster! I am, it’s me! I’m the wolf! I killed Simon! I killed John and Jason and, I killed—oh God, I killed everyone! It’s all my fault!”

His confession came out in sobs and pants, though nobody listened, why didn’t they listen?! He was trying to warn them, trying to prevent the same from happening to them!

Alfred screamed and howled and flailed, but they wouldn’t let go of him.

“It’ll be all right, I’ve got you now.”

No! These idiots didn’t understand anything!

Alfred convulsed when he caught sight of the first flames. Everything was in ruins. Ivan, who had tried to save him, was once more scapegoated. And nobody would listen to the truth.

Alfred began laughing. A hysterical, roaring laughter, being torn from his very core. Nobody would listen. They were all idiots. Well, then so be it. If they wouldn’t heed his warnings, they would just have to bear the consequences.

And still, as Alfred plotted their demise, all they could see was a rambling madman, quaking and shouting nonsensicalities. All they could see was a poor victim, gone mad through the abuse of his kidnapper.

They took Alfred back to the safety of the village, where they could nurse him back to health, where the priest could make sure the demons left him be.

And by nightfall, Alfred awoke to a body undergoing transformation, and he knew the time had come to avenge Ivan’s death. No one was to be spared from his fury. They wouldn’t listen to his plagued monologue, so he would give them something that was certain to catch their attention.

And after he was done, he would do what Ivan had been unable to. For the sake of his beloved, he would slay the beast that lay within. As the moon was his witness.


End file.
